


Wish You Were Here

by roswyrm



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Letters, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Pen Pals, Pining, Sappy, This Is STUPID, Time Skips, its so DUMB and SOFT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 06:19:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18026366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: 5: "I've wanted this for so long."





	Wish You Were Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myopicmickey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myopicmickey/gifts).



> this got, Real Long, holy fuck,

Hamid leaves a trace of magic in the stamp. It’s a reasonably simple scrying spell that he used to use on Bertie. He hopes Zolf doesn’t mind that. If the letter ever gets through. (If Zolf ever reads it.) 

Hamid unrolls the accompanying map and taps his finger on the little red line’s origin point. “Here is me,” he murmurs, more routine than ritual, “and here are you. And here—” he taps the hotel he thinks Zolf was staying in— “is where you’re going to.” It’s dumb. A little rhyme he made up to help him remember the spell’s purpose. Hamid sighs. He doesn’t feel anything like the boy who came up with that rhyme. It was only a few months ago, but he’s seen so much and changed more than he could have expected.

He rolls the map back up again.  
_____  
“Oi, Hamid!” Hamid looks up, and Grizzop flicks an envelope at him. “You got mail!” Hamid suppresses a groan. More paperwork, most likely. He opens it with a claw and ignores the paladin’s eye-rolling. It’s easier to use a claw for one clean slice than it is to hack at the envelope with an arrow. Hamid’s not using his claws foolishly or taking them for granted, he’s being clever and working with what he’s got. Except the letter isn’t a file, it’s handwritten. 

**Hamid,**  
**~~I’m so sorry~~ ~~Is there someth~~ ~~Do you~~ I don’t know if there’s much of anything I could say that would make what you’re going through easier, but...**

Hamid’s eyes widen. Zolf wrote back. It feels a bit ridiculous, the shock he feels about that. But it’s been a semi-constant worry, from Cairo to Damascus to Rome back to Damascus: did Zolf get his letter? And now Hamid has proof that he did. _Because Zolf wrote back._ Hamid stuffs the letter back into the envelope and announces, “I’m going to read this in my own room,” and then scampers away to do exactly that.

Zolf is doing well, it turns out. Not excellently, but well enough to have responded to Hamid’s letter. And it’s a bit late, but the constant scratching-out makes Hamid smile. Zolf clearly did his best to be kind, to not say anything too upsetting, and that fills Hamid’s chest with something he doesn’t want to think about too carefully. 

**...suppose it doesn’t matter. I don’t know how to do that scrying-wax trick anyway. I did manage to buy a ring that works basically the same way, though. Figured you already have two magic rings, might as well make it three. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to. I just thought it might make letters easier to address. If you want me to keep sending them. ~~I want to~~ ~~I hope you want~~ ~~I miss~~ **  
**Zolf**

...the envelope does, in fact, have a ring in it. Hamid didn’t notice the extra weight until it’s pointed out. A plain silver band with a clean-cut purple stone set in it. It’s too small to fit Hamid’s hand, though not for lack of trying. (He wanted to slip it on where Barrett’s ring used to sit. It would have had a nicer connotation, this time. Hamid snatched that ring from Barrett’s hands so Zolf wouldn’t put it on, and looking at it always reminded him of that moment. Then Barrett started speaking to him through it, and most of that memory was pared down to the smug look on Barrett’s face.) 

Hamid affixes it to a thin silver chain, and it’s stark against the rest of his jewellery. He’s not going to think about why he likes that as much as he does.  
_____  
_...how much more florid do you think I could make my signatures?_  
_Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan_  
_____  
**...I don’t want to answer, because I know whatever answer I give you, you’ll take it as a challenge.**  
**Zolf**  
_____  
_...and as for the signature, you have nothing to be worried about._  
_Your dearest, most charming friend…_  
_____  
**My dearest, most charming friend,**  
**see that half-paragraph it took for you to stop writing? That’s _exactly_ what I was worried about...**  
_____  
_Zolf,_  
_to be honest, I don’t understand the concern. Jealousy regarding my array of titles is, of course, to be expected, but the worry is just unacceptable..._  
_____  
**My dearest Hamid,**  
**I hope you know that this is how my letters to you open, now. It’s your own fault...**  
_____  
_My dearest Zolf,_  
_I believe I told you about Sasha’s new favourite saying? “Fight fire with Dragonfire”? Because it is entirely applicable in this instance..._  
_____  
Hamid saves the letters. Of course, he saves the letters. He folds them up carefully and places them into his bag of holding, and he rereads them a million times over while waiting for the next one to arrive. Months and months worth of paper, some with the endearments, some without. Sometimes, he unrolls the map and taps on his own little purple dot. “Here is me, and here are you. And here—” he taps the little red dot that represents Zolf— “is where you’re going to.” And the way his heart swells when he sees a new letter isn’t important at all. The butterflies in his stomach when he reads “my dearest” in Zolf’s handwriting is a non-issue. The soft smile that grows and grows while reading is not something that needs to be examined even a little bit.  
_____  
_~~My dearest,~~_  
_~~The ring you sent me didn’t fit, but I put it on a chain. It rests comfortably against my heart...~~_  
_____  
**My dearest, Hamid,**

and Hamid stops. Looks closer, brings the paper right up to his face, but the comma doesn’t disappear. He tries to blow it off, or brush it away, but the comma appears to be an actual bit of ink. Probably a minor stain. Or a slip. Or something. He’s so distracted that he almost doesn’t register,

**...I don’t know. It’s not important. I guess I’m just sentimental.**  
**Yours, Zolf**

Yours. Zolf has never signed it like that before. And Hamid is reading too much into things, he’s sure, but what if he isn’t? What if— he’ll test it. He’ll keep writing, and he’ll figure it out.  
_____  
 _ ~~My dearest,~~_  
 _ ~~I often find myself wondering if you take as much solace in these letters as I do. I often find myself wondering if you read over my letters, searching for some sign, any sign, that I feel more deeply for you than I explicitly admit. I must confess, this is a task I have undertaken myself many, many nights...~~_  
_____  
 _My dearest Zolf,_  
 _If you didn’t just scratch it out, it’s important. And even if it wasn’t, we don’t have to only talk about important things…_  
 _...and I know I’ve mentioned it before, but I really do miss you. Seeing a little red dot on a map and re-reading a letter doesn’t compare to actually seeing you._  
 _Yours, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan_  
_____  
 **My dearest, Hamid,**  
 **I know what you mean. It’s so quiet here, and I hate to say it, but I miss the arguing. And the not-arguing too, obviously, but that was a lot rarer…**  
 **...I don’t think I can come back, but if I could, ~~I’d be with you in half a seco~~ ~~I’d love to~~ ~~seeing you might~~ I would.**  
 **Yours, Zolf**  
_____  
 _ ~~My dearest,~~_  
 _ ~~I do believe I’m in love with you...~~_  
_____  
 _My dearest,_  
 _I hate to hear that you’re so stuck where you are…_  
 _...I hope you’re still doing well._  
 _Yours, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan_  
_____  
Hamid just gets a postcard after the last letter, and his heart stops. He’s overstepped. He’s sure of it.

**Hamid,**  
**I hope I don’t come across as too forward or blunt (for once in my life) but I’ve reread your letters about a million times each, and I get the feeling that you like me more than you’re trying to let on. I hope that’s the case, at least, because I like you a lot more than I want to say, too.**  
**Yours (hopefully), Zolf**

Hamid’s heart doesn’t start. Hamid looks over the card again. Again. Again.  
_____  
_My dearest,_  
_I don’t know if this would be easier or not face to face. Because on the one hand, in a letter, I can think through exactly what my response will be instead of stammering and making a fool of myself. However, I also can’t properly express how happy your letter has made me…_  
_...I do rather like the idea. If that’s alright._  
_Yours(?), Hamid_  
_____  
Hamid never really thought of himself as the kind of person to get involved in a long-distance relationship. But honestly, when you’ve been maintaining a long-distance friendship for a year and been somewhere on the edge of an unnamed and unspecified _‘more’_ for three months, entirely carried out in letters, it’s not that difficult. In many ways, it’s considerably easier.  
_____  
**...so, I might be in London again, by the end of the week. Should we try and meet up somewhere?**  
**Yours, Zolf**  
_____  
_...I would very much like that. I suppose I’ll stay in a cafe, and you can find the ring. I look forward to seeing you!_  
_Love, Hamid_  
_____  
“Sasha, really,” Hamid protests when she hands him an old dagger, “it’s fine. I trust him.”

Sasha pushes the hilt into his hands, giving him no choice but to take it. “You won’t even tell me his name! How am _I_ supposed to trust him?” Hamid rolls his eyes and carefully sheathes the dagger into the case fitted just inside his blazer. It’s the dagger or Sasha tailing him, and if she recognises Zolf, then Hamid’s going to have to deal with both of their crushing awkwardness. He’s going to bring it up with her eventually, of course, but not now. She only knows that Hamid’s going on a date, and that’s all she's _going_ to know. “If he ends up eating you alive or something, I’m gonna say ‘I told you so’ at your corpse.” Hamid furrows his brow.

She has her arms crossed indignantly, in a pose that reminds Hamid heavily of the goblin she shares an apartment with. He raises an eyebrow and points out, “If I were eaten, there wouldn’t be a corpse. Also, I’m a very powerful sorcerer. I’ve helped save the world seven times, you know. I think I can handle a date.” Sasha squinches her mouth closed, and Hamid smiles at her. She squinches her mouth further. He does his best not to giggle. “I’ll be back around eleven. Tail me, and I’ll throw another fireball at your feet.” Sasha has to stifle a laugh at that, and Hamid slips out the door.  
_____  
Hamid has just started on his sixth hot chocolate when someone asks, “Is this seat taken?” Hamid looks up, and.

There’s Zolf.

And he’s smiling, which is something that Hamid has imagined a million times, but it’s different because he’s _right there._ Hamid planned this. Carefully. He planned the words he’d say and the contact that he would allow himself, (because they wrote about how Zolf doesn’t mind touch, but he doesn’t particularly like it, either) but all of those thoughts tumble to a complete standstill. Hamid just stands up and, in the middle of the cafe’s patio, pulls Zolf into a kiss.

(There’s a soft yet vehement, _“Holy shit!”_ that sounds very much like Sasha, but that is a problem for Future Hamid to throw a fireball at.)

“Um. Sorry, I just— I’ve wanted this for _so long,_ you have no idea.” 

Zolf laughs, and Hamid hasn’t heard that laugh in over a year. “I have some idea, actually,” he says, and Hamid can’t help but smile. Hamid’s wanted to see him for _so long._ And then Zolf whispers, “Also, I could be wrong, but I think there’s someone on the awning above us.”

“No, there’s not,” says Sasha from the awning above them.

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhh yeah find me on tumblr @roswell-the-wrongdoer and send me prompts and ill write whatever!!


End file.
